


Preventers

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: Impossible Arc [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Case Fic, Competitive friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Recovery from injury, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-24
Updated: 2006-02-24
Packaged: 2020-10-25 06:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: A.C. 200: Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy are Preventer Agents. But something is still preventing them from becoming friends.





	Preventers

_A.C. 200_

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

I think of the weirdest shit sometimes. For example, here I am, standing in the Preventers HQ break room with a pot of coffee in my hand and my favorite mug in the other and I’m wondering how exactly this beverage is made. I mean, I _know_ you run hot water over ground-up, roasted coffee beans and all that but... _how_ exactly does hot water and bean bits turn into this powerful legal stimulant I’m holding aloft in my hand? I can run water over sand or cracker crumbs or feta cheese and not get nearly as satisfying a result. But then I think of this morning’s Lucky Charms flavored milk.

Hm. Obviously this taste transference isn’t an isolated incident.

“What are you doing, Maxwell?”

I blink and, looking to my left, find myself greeted by Wufei’s amused expression. “Contemplating the chemical and physical aspects of the phenomenon known as taste transference,” I quip. There’s nothin’ like the truth to really freak someone out.

Wufei bravely plucks the pot from my hand.

“Hey!” I protest. I’m not finished with my thought experiment yet.

“You can finish your contemplation _after_ I’ve gotten my share,” he tells me with amusement. Wufei is _far_ too amused at eight o’ clock in the morning.

I grumble, “I’m gonna need a chain of custody voucher for that, Wu.”

“I’m drinking evidence?” he inquires casually, taking a sip.

“Hm,” I agree. “You never know what they hide in this stuff. I mean, it’s almost black anyway so you’d never know it if someone –”

Wufei abruptly raises a hand and warns me, “Do _not_ ruin this for me, Maxwell, or you _will_ regret it.”

I smirk. I’ve heard that particular threat almost as often as I’ve heard Heero swear to kill someone. After working with both of them for a good two years now, I’ve been desensitized.

“Speaking of,” I reply wickedly, “I brought some Jell-O in my lunch today...” I don’t get any further. Wufei scowls, turns, and marches off to his office. I lean back against the counter and chuckle. It’s been over four months since Wufei asked me what the stuff was made of. That had been priceless. After my factual explanation, he’d paused, eyes wide with a spoonful of green Jell-O quivering on his fork halfway to his mouth. I’ll never forget the look of revulsion on his face as he’d deliberately abandoned his dessert. I shake my head and promise to get some homemade head cheese at the Scandinavian market next weekend for my lunch. Wufei has no idea that there are so many foodstuffs out there that are _far worse_ than lime Jell-O.

“What is it?”

This time the intruder is Heero. He’s probably one of the few agents here who would dare to ask me what’s on my mind when I’m grinning evilly to myself at eight o’clock in the morning. I chuckle, still holding my empty mug as he approaches the abandoned pot with his own cup in hand. “Just thinking about that time I told Wufei where Jell-O comes from.”

Heero smirks as he pours himself his usual half-serving of coffee. “No sense of adventure,” he replies drolly.

I continue grinning in silent agreement. Spotting the empty mug in my grasp, Heero holds up the coffee pot in silent question. With a shrug, I hold out my cup and he fills it for me to the imaginary two-thirds mark. Then, replacing the pot, he opens the fridge, plucks the Half & Half from the shelf and sloshes exactly one and a half ounces into my mug. I arc a brow at him. He’d managed to fix my coffee for me _precisely_ the way I drink it. Hm. I suppose there’s an advantage to working with people who investigate stuff for a living.

In fact, lately, Heero’s been making all these odd, little gestures like this one. I can’t quite figure it out.

I take a sip of my flesh-tone beverage. It’s perfect. Of course.

Heero absently runs the dish rag around the counter before chucking it back in the basin. “Une wants to see us,” he reminds me.

I snort. As if I’d forgotten. “If you’re ready, then lead the way, dude.”

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

“Agent Yuy will be our man inside on this.”

“What?!”

I glance in Duo’s direction and find myself highly amused by his consternated expression.

He protests, “But I’m _way_ better at infiltration than he is, you know!”

That phrase... that tone of voice... I flash back in time and I’m once again in OZ custody with Duo and Wufei. I recall being recruited to help bring down a new type of Gundam that, by process of elimination, I’d known must have been piloted by Quatre. From the grungy shadows of our cell, Duo had protested that I be the one to accompany Trowa. In fact, he’d used nearly the exact same objection then: _“I’m a better pilot than he is, you know!”_ It had confused me a little, listening to his adamant declaration. He’d been in no condition to pilot anything, so why had he said it? Over the years, that moment has stuck with me doggedly. One of these days, if I think he might actually tell me the whole truth, I’ll ask him. But for now I sigh and roll my eyes at him.

Une neither confirms nor denies his statement. “Technically, _you’re_ up on the rotation, Agent Maxwell,” she replies, cutting – I think – to the heart of the issue. Duo hates desk duty almost as much as he hates letting me have all the “fun,” as he puts it. “However, the nature of the organization you’ll be investigating is such that it would be prudent for us to adjust things this time.”

Duo crosses his arms over his chest and looks rather grumpy. “Oh, yeah? What’s so special about Heero?”

I glare at him. He can be _so_ immature when his ego’s involved.

Une ignores his sullen undertone and informs us, “Agent Yuy has a biological advantage.”

_That_ surprises me. And Duo as well if I read the lessening of tension in his shoulders correctly.

She holds up a pair of data disks. “This organization is one of the companies that have taken over re-building the facilities on the moon. It’s a pharmaceutical plant and Agent Yuy’s enhanced resistance to most drugs could come in very handy.”

“You expect me to get caught,” I say flatly.

Her mouth tightens slightly. “It is a distinct possibility. Especially with the people you’ll be dealing with. Of course we’ll do everything we can to provide you with an air-tight cover and background but I also have to take into consideration several reports of new hires being subjected to various drugs during their orientation for the purpose of ensuring their cooperation.”

“Brainwashing,” Duo summarizes, glancing at me. I can’t completely read the look in his eyes. Is it concern? If so, is it for me or himself as he’d almost been the operative on this one?

“It’s only an allegation at this point,” Une reminds us but we all know better than to ignore something with such potentially serious consequences, “but we need to pursue this as soon as possible.” She offers the disks to us and I step forward to accept them. Silently, I pass one of them on to Duo. “After you’ve become familiar with the case, I’d like to see both of you to discuss logistics.”

Duo and I nod almost in unison.

“That’s all, agents.”

Notes

:: Heero’s recollection of his time in OZ custody and Duo’s claim that he’s a better pilot than Heero is from episode 24.

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

I’m liking this assignment less and less. In the privacy of my office, I scour through the information on the data disk provided by Une and with every passing paragraph, I become more and more convinced that it really should be _me_ going in. I mean, pulling this off is going to take more than your average level of acting ability and I know that’s _my_ strong point. Hell, if it weren’t for the possibility of that whole brainwashing crap I _would_ be the best choice for this one. Sure, I’ve been trained to resist that kind of thing, but Heero is leaps and bounds ahead of me there, having spent a good four years more in training than I had. Still, Heero’s not what I would call a “natural-born” actor. He prefers to go unseen, either by way of stealth or by redirecting attention away from himself... C4-style. And this mission will require him to blend in with the crowd. He’ll be damn lucky if he can manage to play their game without arousing suspicions. _Very_ damn lucky.

I frown at the computer screen, a sour taste in my mouth. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. I jab at the arrow keys, scrolling down further. It _should_ be me going in. I _want _it to be me going in. I fucking _hate_ staying behind the scenes. I hate the waiting. The wondering. The lack of immediate control over the situation. And, of course, blowing shit up is a lovely bonus you don’t see around the office very often.

At my elbow, the phone rings. I mark my place with my cursor and check the caller ID. Heh. Figures.

“What is it _now_, Yuy?” I drawl.

He snorts at me. “I ordered us lunch from Antonia’s. It’s just arrived.”

Oh, shit. At the very mention of that little mom-and-pop Italian take-out place, I begin to salivate. And he freaking knows it, too. Asshole.

“Meet me in my office?” he invites but it might as well be an order because I’m not capable of refusing, regardless.

“Give me five minutes,” I reply and hang up.

I power down the pc screen and lock my hard drive before I’ve returned the phone to its cradle. Still, I don’t leap up and race out the door. I sit there and gaze at the phone with narrowed eyes. What had prompted _that _little offer, I wonder? Is he trying to apologize for stealing my spot on the undercover ops list? But why would he? It’s not like he had any control over Une’s decision.

I sigh and, shaking my head, stand. I can’t figure the guy out. I give up. As long as he follows through on his promise of Antonia’s take-out, I don’t give a damn about his motivations. Following my nose, I let myself into Heero’s office well before my five minutes has expired. I take a seat on the edge of his immaculate desk and accept the white Styrofoam box and plastic utensils. I pop the lid off and grin down at my order. Stromboli. I jab at it with my fork and take an inventory of the contents. Gorgonzola cheese and spinach with _two_ little sauce cups of marinara. Just the way I like it. I’m wondering if he remembered my beverage when he reaches around the white paper bag and collects a pint of chilled milk tea.

I stare at the carton in my hand for a moment before I glare at Heero. He neatly cuts his sausage, mushroom, and mozzarella ravioli into quarters and ignores me.

“Dude,” I say, wary of this generosity. “Do you, like, need a favor or something?”

Mouth open and fork an instant from depositing his fist bite on his tongue, he pauses. “What... like watering my plants?”

“You have _a_ cactus,” I remind him. I know this because I’d given him one for a gag gift last Christmas. “But yeah, something like that.”

He lifts a brow at me. “You will be responsible for my backup during this next mission, won’t you?”

“Uhm... that’s usually part of desk duty, yes,” I reply, thinking I know where this is going. “You think you have to ply me with Antonia’s so I won’t leave you there?”

“Hm,” he says. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

I shrug. “Yeah, good point.” I dig into my stromboli and think about Heero’s words. So he’s aware of this assignment’s risks and he’s concerned enough to mention it even if he hadn’t been totally serious. That, more than Heero’s uncanny ability to provide me with a selection of nothing less than my favorite foods, worries me.

“Look, man,” I tell him, “just don’t go vigilante on me and I’ll get you home.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” he counters, lips smirking and a single brow arced.

I poke my fork in his direction. “Get that evil grin off of your face, Yuy. _I’m_ the only one allowed to use that look around here.”

“No wonder you signed on.”

“That’s right,” I confirm. I turn back to my lunch but don’t actually manage to take a bite without getting something else off of my chest first. “Just be careful, Yuy,” I grouch. “You know how much I hate it when you go all suicidally heroic and steal all the glory.”

He grins back at me, his expression taunting. “Then do your job here so I won’t have a reason to.”

I glare at him. What a jerk. “In honor of your imminent departure and subsequent banishment from the realm of Antonia’s, I’ll _let_ you have the last word on that.”

“How generous of you,” he deadpans.

I think so, too.

. . .

_ ~ Heero Yuy ~_

_Mammillaria albicans_

_Minimum average temperature: 50° F_

_Sun Exposure: Light shade_

_Origin: Mexico_

_Growth Habits: Clustering cylindrical cactus, up to 8 inches tall, 2.4 inches in diameter, 4 to 8 central spines, with sometimes one hooked, 14-21 radials _

_Watering Needs: Water sparingly, needs good drainage_

_Flowering Habits: White to pale pink flowers_

I don’t have to look at the small card that had come with my Christmas present from Duo. I’d memorized it completely the day he’d given the tiny plant to me. He’d intended for it to be a joke although I’m still not sure exactly what that joke is. I sit down on the arm of the couch and just watch the cactus grow in achingly slow motion.

It’s only about three inches tall now and it hasn’t quite begun to crowd the miniature clay pot. After a bit more extensive research, I’d learned that I’d probably have to wait six months to notice any appreciable growth. But that’s all right. Even as small as it is, it’s already promising flowers.

There are five tiny buds perched not on the top of the cactus as one might expect but along the slightly bulging barrel. All of them are clamped tightly shut as if trying to resist the persistent rays of the sun in order to roll over and go back to sleep.

I had been looking forward to watching these tiny blossoms open. From further research, I had learned that it would happen within the upcoming week and that they would, most likely, unfurl very quickly. But unless they open up tonight, I probably won’t get to see them; I leave for the moon tomorrow.

And this afternoon, I’d almost asked Duo to stop by my apartment and check on the flowers. I’d almost asked him to bring a camera.

I catch myself evaluating the logistics needed to rig a camera to take a photograph every six hours and I have to smile, albeit a bit ruefully, at myself.

This cactus blooms every year in March: there will be other blossoms.

I sigh and stretch out an arm to reach the nearest lamp. The shadows had grown deeper as I’d been sitting here thinking about flowers. I tug the brassy chain and golden light erupts in my living room. Even though Duo and I have worked together on many assignments over the years, it had still taken us the entire afternoon to prepare for my departure. I have a morning flight and I haven’t even packed yet.

I allow myself another moment to study the way incandescent light bends around the cactus on my living room window sill. And I _really_ wonder what Duo had thought was so funny about it.

Leaning away from the couch, I propel myself in the direction of my bedroom, intent on getting some of that much-needed packing started. But even as I pull out various shirts, ties, and slacks, I’m still wondering about the significance of that cactus.

Cacti are amazingly delicate creatures for all their prickly appearance. The majority of their weight is due to water retention which, in an environment that only receives precipitation a handful of times a year, is necessary for survival.

I pause.

I backtrack and reconsider those last thoughts. I consider the possibility that Duo had chosen the plant for me as some sort of metaphoric analogy. Although I don’t have spines, I’m aware that I’m usually perceived as being rather aloof. Perhaps even unapproachable. And like the water-tight skin of a cactus, it’s my tendency to refuse to allow my emotions to escape me. Or my memories. I hold them inside, guarding them like they’re treasure. And perhaps they are. The moments of friendship I’m given with Wufei and Duo are few and far between. Like desert rain.

And then that thought nudges me in yet another direction: Duo. When had been the last time he and I had been... well, for lack of a better word, friendly? When had been the last time we’d confided in each other? Offered encouragement? Reassurance? 

I think back over the last two years we’d been employed by the Preventers... and I think back over the second battle we’d fought on New Year’s Eve... and I think even further back to the year of silence after the first war... hell, I even troll through my memories of the first war itself.

This isn’t the first time I’ve done this sort of historical examination. Every time I find myself thinking back on time and events I’d shared with Duo, I come to the same uncomfortable, inevitable conclusion: somehow we’d come through battle after battle without ever truly becoming friends. And there just seems to be something horribly wrong about that.

I sigh and decide to stop thinking about it. I never get anywhere with it, anyway. And besides, I have an assignment to pack for.

** **

Notes

:: Information about Heero’s cactus was gathered here:

http://www.desert-tropicals.com/Plants/Cactaceae/Mammillaria_albicans.html

:: And the bit about it being a March-flowering plant I found here:

http://www.cactus-mall.com/mammsoc/article4.htm

. . . 

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

I love coming up with code names. It’s actually a talent of mine. I have this knack for picking a completely believable name. My success rate is due, mostly, to the fact that no one but a parent could have thought of that particular name with any fondness. And, of course, there’s no way in hell someone would actually _choose_ that name for himself. And voila, the mark is completely oblivious to the fact that he or she is being investigated by a Preventer agent.

I’ve lost track of the number of times someone has come to me and asked for one of my brilliant code names. In the event of a request, I simply whip out my ever-growing list and select something that sounds believable for the person who will be answering to it. That’s the final touch that makes it all perfect, you know. But for Heero’s code names... well, that requires a certain... finesse that I don’t bother with for anyone else.

I start to chuckle at the thought of Heero answering to the code name I’d picked out for him... but the sound dies almost right away. I find myself staring at the clock on my desk and calculating his shuttle’s speed and location.

I still wish I’d been the one to go. But that sort of woe-is-me whining won’t get me anywhere. I know it, but I’m still sulking. On the inside, of course.

“Maxwell, stop pouting.”

I glance up and over my shoulder at Wufei. He leans quite insolently in the doorway of my office, smirking. My expression takes an evil turn. “Please, _please_ tell me you’re here for a code name.”

Both his dark brows lift in barely-suppressed amusement. “Not for all the money in the world would I ask you for a code name after I’d just accused you of pouting.”

“Heh. I guess you are kinda smart’n’stuff, aren’tcha?”

“Yes,” he replies haughtily. “I _suppose_ I am.”

I snort. “Pompous ass.”

He pauses a moment. I suppose he’s waiting to see if I’ve managed to vent all my hostility in those three syllables. “Yuy en route?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Got his shuttle on the GPS tracker. Wanna watch the little green light blink with me for a while?”

Wufei looks borderline worried. “Don’t you have other things you could be doing?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah. I was thinking I should probably start getting the logistics together for my scheduled _mosey_ on down to the copy machine.” Oh, yeah. Desk duty is just a _whirlwind_ of activity. Oooh, baby.

Wufei stares at me for a moment. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but when it comes to operation support duty, if you weren’t so amusing, you’d be intolerable.”

“Thanks for the pick-me-up,” I mutter dryly. “Rah-rah-rass.”

Wufei looks even more worried. “What?” he asks with audible reluctance.

I sigh. “You know the old pep rally cheer?”

He gives me a blank look.

Dutifully, I recite, “Rah-rah-ree, kick ‘em in the knee! Rah-rah-rass, kick ‘em in the –”

“Maxwell!”

I grin maliciously and continue over Wufei’s urgent whisper, “... _other_ knee.”

Wufei sighs. “Ancestors save us,” I think I hear him mutter. He musters up a weak glare. “Is this what you do when you’re on the Network all day? Dig up archaic – not to mention asinine – examples of pseudo-music.”

I laugh: _pseudo-music._ How true. “So... if you’re not here to get a code name and you don’t want to listen to my collection of, er, _pseudo-music_, then why _are_ you here?”

He stares at me for another moment. “Collection?” he manages. “You mean you know more of those hideous... things?”

“Well...” I drawl, “the word _collection_ does tend to imply plurality, yes.”

“You... collect some very strange things,” he replies.

I can’t say I disagree. “So...” I begin again. “You. Here. Why?”

Wufei takes a moment to study me. And I do mean _study_ me. By the time he’s finished memorizing my face, I’m starting to get a little weirded-out.

“Actually...” Wufei tells me with slow deliberation, “I came by to see if you’re all right.”

“Er... huh?”

He elaborates, “With Heero being gone.”

I snort. “Bloody hell, man. It’s not like we’re joined at the hip! I’m just pissy ‘cause he got to take this one. You know me.”

Another quiet moment passes before Wufei agrees, “Yes, I do know you.”

And with that cryptic remark, he wanders away again. 

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

Before I’d stepped through the front doors of the research facility, the game had already begun. In my mind, I struggle to keep up the mental image of Duo in full charisma mode. I have to hide in the open here which means doing things Duo’s way. I’ve never really tried this before and I’m nervous, but there’s no room for errors and that uncompromising standard steadies me.

I stride up to the receptionist’s desk and announce myself. “Rupert Takahashi,” I say with a small, friendly smile. Behind the greeting, I’m silently damning Duo. Again. The son of a bitch is probably leaning against the counter in the HQ break room right this minute, smirking his ass off and telling anyone who will listen that he’d managed to find a code name even more hideous that the last one he’d given me. It must have been quite the challenge to best Linus Levine. I continue smoothly, “I have an appointment with Dr. Adamsson at eight thirty.”

The young man opposite me returns my pleasant greeting and asks me to wait for a moment. After a brief exchange over the phone, he tells me, “It’ll only be a minute or so, Mr. Takahashi. Dr. Adamsson’s assistant is on his way.”

“Thank you,” I remember to say. I even attempt to pitch my voice the way Duo does. Yet even after working with him for the past two years, it’s hard to do.

I can freely admit that there is no one else in the world who can act like Duo unless it’s... well, Duo himself. For a long time, I’d been amazed at the fact that Duo is capable of such enviable stealthwork. I’ve never quite been able to work out how someone like Duo can go unnoticed whenever he wants to. But then, I’d reconciled myself – a long time ago – to the fact that I will _always_ notice him, regardless of time and place. Still, it baffles me how the attentions of other people are not immediately drawn to him unless he wishes it to be so. 

I sigh. I tell myself to stop wasting time with this old debate. I haven’t understood this since I noticed it during the war and it’s highly unlikely that I’ll figure it out now.

Time to get on with the show.

I glance at the receptionist and wonder if I should try to make small talk but he looks busy so I force myself to fiddle with my suit jacket, run my fingers along my tie, glance at the arrangement of spacescape paintings along the wall. Idly, I wonder how Duo does it: maintain that level of average-Joe-ease he’s so very good at. I shove my free hand in my pocket and jingle the hotel key around. I realize I’m running out of things to do while I wait and I begin to get a little worried. I have to blend in. I _must_ blend in. Standing at attention, deathly still, eyes roaming the lobby with the intent to map every exit will certainly get me noticed. I have to act like a personable, run-of-the-mill kind of guy. I readjust my wrist watch. Damn, this is hard.

“Mr. Takahashi?”

I turn and offer a grateful welcome to the young man stepping past the sliding glass doors. He holds out his hand and I grasp it, telling myself I can do this, reminding myself that my character has done things like this every day of his professional life. 

The assistant introduces himself to me and continues apologetically as he steers me deeper into the research facility, “Dr. Adamsson sends his apologies for being unable to greet you himself. Several case tests coming up for review got moved up ahead of schedule, so you’re stuck with me for the time being.”

I chuckle, like I’m supposed to. “You mean, I’ll be stuck with whatever equipment you need recalibrated for your operations here on the moon,” I correct.

The assistant grins and nods. “We’ve certainly got enough to keep you busy for a while.”

“That’s good,” I reply gamely. Out of nowhere, something I’d once heard Duo say comes to me and I grasp onto it with relief, “It’ll keep me out of trouble.”

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

“Ahh...” I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, fold my hands over my pleasantly full stomach, and murmur to my host, “You know, if I thought you wouldn’t kill me on sight, I’d ask you to marry me.”

Wufei snorts and I hear the creak of his chair as he leans back against it as well. “You say that every time I cook, Maxwell,” he observes dryly. “I’m used to it by now.”

I crack open my eyes and attempt to look wounded. “Alas, I have reached the bottom of the pit of pathetic; I’ve become predictable...” A wicked grin tugs my lips upward at the corners. “How to change that, I wonder...”

Wufei sighs and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he intones flatly.

“Yeah,” I agree with a mellow sigh. “You really shouldn’t have. Especially since Heero’s not here to help you distract me from formulating my evil plans.”

There’s a long pause following that remark. And while long pauses during a conversation with Wufei are not uncommon, this particular one is. I take a moment to study him a little harder, noting the uncertainty in his body language that makes him tense.

“What is it?” I ask him. My eyes widen and my pulse skips as something occurs to me. “Did you find out something about that company Heero’s infiltrating or –”

“Calm down, Duo,” Wufei says quietly, rising from the table and carrying his dishes to the counter. “You _know _I’d tell you the moment I found something.” He turns and scowls at me thoughtfully. “It’s only been three days. What’s got you so wound up about it, anyway?”

I shrug. “Nothin’ really,” I hedge. “I’m always edgy right before the first check-in.” Which is true. Mostly. I try to ignore the fact that I’ve been counting down to Heero’s first scheduled communication since we parted ways after work the night before the mission. His message tomorrow should put me out of my misery.

Still, Wufei doesn’t buy my lame half-truth. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me.

I sigh. “I was up on rotation for this one but Une decided to go with Heero. I just...” My jaw clenches down for a moment. “I just hate being the one that’s left behind,” I grumble. “The guy in the field has all the options, all the control... And I just hate sitting on my ass, waiting. _And_ I can’t even hope for some action because _that_ would mean that Heero’s in danger and I have to back him up.” I link my fingers behind my head and close my eyes. “Desk duty sucks, no doubt about it,” I conclude, “because as badly as I want to be out there, that would mean wishing something would go wrong and that just feels like... like I’m...”

“Betraying your partner?” Wufei supplies when I flounder.

I kind of twitch a little and give him a speculative look. I suddenly realize that I’ve never really thought of Heero as “my” partner. Just another agent I work with a lot. Huh. “Yeah,” I admit, albeit reluctantly.

“You’re not the only one,” he tells me.

It’s not really a comfort, but it does broaden my perspective a little bit on the subject. “So _that’s _why you threatened me with bodily injury if I didn’t come over tonight.”

Wufei shrugs. “Sometimes distractions are necessary,” he replies, quoting Heero.

I can recall when he’d said that, too: not so long after I’d joined up with the Preventers. I’d been defending my seemingly frivolous hobby of tinkering with gizmos and gadgets to Wufei when Heero had thrown in his two cents. I don’t think I’d ever heard him defend one of my personality quirks before. Still, despite Heero’s support, Wufei hadn’t been won over:

_“But... For the love of the ancestors, who the hell needs a talking toaster??”_

I almost grin at the memory. I love Wufei to death, but the guy just has no sense of adventure.

And that last thought reminds me of sipping coffee with Heero in the break room earlier this week. I sigh.

“You’re worried about him,” Wufei tells me suddenly.

I resume glaring at him. Taking a breath, I open my mouth to retort but Wufei cuts me off with something equally abrupt.

“What the hell happened between you two?”

Thoroughly confused, I manage a highly intelligent “Huh?”

Wufei settles back in his chair at the table and regards me calmly. “Back during the war, I noticed the way you and Heero dealt with each other. Just from watching, I would have thought you to be friends. But every time you spoke to one another... you sounded like rivals.” Wufei’s lips curve into a sad sort of smile. “Not much has changed since then, even though you’ve been partnered with each other nine times out of ten over the last two years.”

I absorb this in silence, a little startled that Wufei’s even broaching the topic. I mean, what does he care? After all, Heero and I _do_ get along even if we aren’t best buddies or anything...

“I consider both of you my friends,” Wufei continues, somehow reading my mind. “And I know you consider me a friend, but I don’t understand why you haven’t extended the same courtesy to Heero.”

“Why the hell are you bringing it up, anyway?” I hear myself snark.

“Duo...” Wufei replies slowly. He’s using that tone of voice that tells me my churlishness is flowing off of him. He’s using that expression that indicates he’s baring his soul to me. God damn him. I can’t be an asshole now.

And he’s still waiting for the truth. Reluctantly, I cooperate.

“I can’t,” I finally reply, eyes narrowing and arms crossing over my chest.

Wufei frowns, not understanding. In all honesty, I don’t really understand it, either. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Duo Maxwell say he _can’t_ do something.”

He has a point. And I _do _wonder why I can’t open myself up to Heero but no logical reason is forthcoming. There’s only a dark, black, thick space in my mind that separates me from someone who might have been my friend, once upon a time.

I can’t think about this right now. All I can do is shake my head and offer the only excuse I have: “I can’t.”

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

I’m running out of time here. Soon, all of the equipment will be up to safety inspection standards and my excuse to remain here will be exhausted. And I have yet to find any evidence of illegal activity: it appears the rumors of the employees being brainwashed are just that. Therefore, I have two choices: one, to return with absolutely nothing either confirming or denying our suspicions, or two, to get a little more creative in my interpretation of the law.

Not much of a choice, really. I grin. Duo’s going to be pissed as hell that I got to have all the fun this time around.

I pull out my laptop and open a programming window. I don’t bother to keep an eye on the clock as I compose the virus I’ll need in order to both disable the main power and plant an open gate directly to Duo’s computer in his apartment. I’ll have an opportunity to upload the virus tomorrow, I’m sure. Then, once the system crashes, a manual reboot will allow for Duo to ghost around through the encrypted and password protected files.

What I’m about to do is very much against Preventer policies, but only Duo will know who has allowed him access into the system. No one will be able to prove it had been me rather than some anonymous employee. But, then again, at the moment I _am _an anonymous employee.

How ironic.

I smirk to myself as my fingertips type out the necessary commands. But I also have to keep in mind that I need to camouflage the virus’s true intent. The system shut down must seem like a side effect of the virus, rather than its main goal. So, all right... what sort of obnoxious mayhem would a twelve-year-old hacker like to cause on this former OZ base?

Several ideas immediately come to me and that fact alone I find highly amusing. Most people wouldn’t consider me particularly creative. Except Duo, perhaps. I think he’s picked up on my recently expanding appreciation for the weird and deranged. In fact, some of these virus intents I’ve thought up I’d like to share with him. They’d be good for quite a few laughs, if Duo and I had the kind of relationship where we laughed _with _each other.

And suddenly my mood tumbles from mild amusement into acute frustration.

Why _aren’t_ Duo and I friends? We’ve seen each other almost every day of the work week for the past two years. We’ve handled some dangerous and delicate assignments together in perfect unison. Hell, I’ve even started pouring his fucking coffee for him in the mornings. And isn’t it sad that I’ve made that little extra effort to be sure I make it in to work early enough to have a shot at doing that one little thing for him. Everyone at HQ thinks we’re friends. Some have even been deluded into believing we’re _best_ friends. But not Wufei.

Oh, no. Wufei knows. I can tell from his subtle sidelong glances in first my direction then Duo’s when all three of us are in the same room. I don’t know how he’d sensed the distance between us Duo continually affirms when everyone else is oblivious.

That’s not to say we don’t laugh and joke and talk. But it’s all surface. No deep, soul-binding camaraderie here.

But, God, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to...

I freeze.

In stunned silence, I blink at my interrupted programming and stare at the imaginary door I’d just slammed on that last thought. I’m not sure what to think of that oh-so-easily contemplated wish. I’d like to forget about it entirely, but I find myself inching open that door again to have a second look.

I suppose I’d been aware of this fact – at least subconsciously – for a very long time. But it’s not until this moment, as I sit in front of my laptop in a shadowed and anonymous efficiency apartment, that it really hits me.

I would do _anything_ to be Duo’s friend.

Several disjointed bits of information skip through my mind: my habit of ordering his lunch for him and surprising him with take-out when I know he hasn’t bothered to pack anything; my habit of taking the moment to _notice_ whether he’d brought his lunch or not; my habit of fixing his coffee without having to be asked; my tendency to arrive at work in time to have the chance to pour him that first two-thirds cup; my persistent re-examination of every moment, every smile, every gift he’s ever given me in search of hidden meaning...

Dozens of bits of memories and clues all crash together in my head and I begin to realize why I’ve bothered learning how he takes his coffee and making sure I request an extra cup of marinara sauce for him from Antionia’s...

Christ, I’m an idiot.

It all comes down to the simple, pathetic truth:

I’ve _chosen _him to be my best friend. And I _want_ him to fucking wake up and be mine, too.

I can remember a time when I would have rather self-destructed with Wing all over again than admit that to myself. Hm. I suppose people really do change.

The thought gives me hope and the hope makes me angry with myself for even considering it, but I can’t not wonder if someday I’ll ever manage to traverse the distance that’s between us.

I simply don’t know how to deal with someone as complex and stubborn as Duo Maxwell. Reluctantly, I admit that I’ll need help and resolve to speak with Wufei and Quatre. Perhaps Relena as well. I nod in satisfaction at my decision. It is, after all, my only other logical option aside from a direct confrontation with Duo over the matter, which I’m fairly certain would end badly.

With that temporarily settled, I turn my attention back to the havoc and mayhem I’m about to instigate.

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

I’m going to kill him.

I swear to God, if I manage to find him still in one piece, I’ll kill him myself. 

Five days. No email. No phone call. Nothing. For his sake, he’d better be captured. Or incapacitated. Or... _something._

I heft the carton I’d been appointed with a bit more gusto than necessary. Although the guy next to me gives me a funny look, I’m rather proud of my self-restraint thus far. Not that I think for one instant that either Une or Wufei is going to congratulate me for this.

I suppose I could blame Wufei. I mean, if he hadn’t dragged my turbulent emotional state out for my wide-eyed perusal that night after dinner at his place then I might still be fidgeting in my squeaky office chair back at HQ. But he _had_ and I’m obviously _not_.

Perhaps if I’d managed to sleep after that neat, little trip of introspection, I might not be where I am right now. Maybe. The next day at work had been hell, in any case. I’d had loads of shit to do but like I gave a damn about it while I was waiting for my asshole partner’s email. The morning had come and gone. As had lunch. And dinner. And the janitorial staff. That had been the defining moment; that had been when I’d asked myself a very specific question: _So, what are you gonna do about it?_

Notice I hadn’t asked myself what Une would want me to do, or what Wufei would want me to do, or even what _I_ wanted to do. Perhaps I wouldn’t be risking a highly satisfactory and very pensionable job over something that could turn out to be a false alarm. Or worse. I’m very aware that I could blow Heero’s cover and fuck not only him and myself over, but the Preventers in general.

I’d already tried to make myself care during the twelve hour shuttle ride here. And I’d failed miserably. I’ll care if I fuck up, I’m sure. But that hasn’t happened yet and it’s not a policy of mine to concern myself with nebulous probabilities.

In retrospect, it had been scarily easy to convince a harried space freighter captain to give me berth to the moon. Especially after I’d done my “I’m-just-a-harmless-dumb-idiot-trying-to-get-back-home act.” I don’t think Heero’s seen that one.

And he won’t get the chance to, either, once I get my hands on him.

Despite the visions of excruciatingly prolonged death frolicking through my mind, I manage to smile at the docking inspector. “Yo, man, where do you want this?”

The bastard doesn’t even look up from his fancy digital clipboard. “Cool,” I tell him, following his disinterested nod. As I carry my burden of something-or-other marked _Fragile,_ I take note of a service door near the corner I’m headed for. Perfect.

Fifteen seconds after the carton in my hands touches the cold, worn flooring, I’m ghosting through a labyrinth of halls that look altogether too familiar for my peace of mind. It appears the new tenants haven’t redecorated yet. I take in the specific shade of washed-out, moon-powder-dusted neosteel and marvel at how some things really don’t change. Once more I’m voluntarily venturing into this beast and on the heels of the same guy I’d come to “rescue” on my previous visit. Not that I’d ever told him that. Not that he would have cared either way. Not that he’s going to appreciate the gesture this time around, either.

But then, it doesn’t really matter _what _he wants. Because once this Stealth Show gets underway, there’s no stopping it. So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, may I present the amazing Disappearing Duo Act. Please hold your applause until the end... No, no, wait for it... _wait for it..._

I draw in a deep breath and imagine myself blending into the walls like a semi-solid puddle of liquid steel. Everything that I am becomes cold, grey, and still. I smirk briefly in shadows. And I can’t help but be amused by the words that echo through the dimming stage that is my headspace: “Now you see him... and now you don’t.”

Notes

:: In the series, Duo infiltrates the Lunar Base in order to destroy it, or so he tells Hilde in episode 24.

. . . 

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

Finally. 

I listen to the sound of the solar bay doors hissing closed behind Adamsson’s chief assistant, the man who has been my tour guide/babysitter for the last five days and then some. Finally, I am alone. And I’m alone with the data beast that runs this corporation.

As Duo would say, _Whoo-yeah!_

At last, the virus program I’d been carefully nurturing on my laptop’s hard drive will finally be allowed the fieldtrip I’d promised it a day and a half ago.

I almost snort at myself. Perhaps my concentrated effort to behave like Duo over the duration of this mission has had an effect on my psyche. An intriguing... if disturbing thought. For sure, it would amuse Duo.

_Will, _I correct myself. It _will_ amuse Duo. Sometime over the last thirty-six hours, I’ve firmed my resolution to get through to that guy. And I’ll do whatever it takes. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop clashing wits with him. I mean, let’s face it: what’s friendship without intellectual challenge? But I’m going to start crowding his space until he finally lets me in. No longer am I going to convince myself I’m satisfied with his bullshit smile and snappy rejoinders. It’s all or nothing, now.

But first, the mission.

It takes me mere moments to accomplish the task I’d been assigned by the head doctor’s assistant. And then, under the pretext of running a diagnostic program, I hook up my laptop to the database. Finally, something I’d actually been trained to do. Something I don’t have to refer to my memories of Duo for. I know that as soon as I get back to Earth, I’m going to crash and burn. This assignment has been exhausting. Where Duo gets the energy to be who he is, I have not a clue.

While I’m waiting for the virus to be absorbed into the main computer, I surreptitiously take in my surroundings. In mere moments, I’ve nearly finished typing up an encoded text file detailing the variety of power sources here in the generator room. I can’t help but be little impressed by the field of solar mirrors pointed toward the domed ceiling. And I’m annoyed to realize that I can’t remember if these are the same mirrors that had been here back when Oz had appropriated the facility or if the Earth Sphere had installed them recently in an attempt to entice companies to move their operations into outer space.

Having finished my notes, I once again check the email account I’d used to contact Duo. There’s still no reply to my check-in. I frown and wonder what the hell is going on. I’d already turned my mobile connection inside-out looking for a blockage. I give the mental equivalent of a shrug. I’ll sit down this evening and try to figure out the problem. It’s obviously something that needs several hours’ worth of my undivided attention. Perhaps, having been distracted by the completion and release of my virus, I’d missed something when I’d last checked it. Unlikely, but possible.

The progress window on my screen alerts me to the completed upload. 

So, that’s it. The next time the main computer connects with the satellites necessary for this compound’s communications, the virus will begin to unfurl. A diagnostic check will send it into full maturity. There is nothing more I can do at this moment. Either it will be successful or it won’t. As I pack up my equipment, I also briefly consider the possibility that I’ll be asked to stay on longer here to help sort out the problem and while that might end up being good for the mission, I’d really rather go home. But whatever, as Duo would say.

I feel my expression softening as I think of him. I’m a little anxious to start my new campaign to win his friendship. I almost shake my head at myself. Damn but it took me long enough to change my tactics–

My expression is pulled once more into a frown as I wait for the doors to open at my command but there’s no response. I tap in the code once more and wait. But still the electronic locks remain engaged.

What the hell? The virus couldn’t have taken effect yet. In fact, I hadn’t even attacked the locking systems with it.

I jab at the keypad yet again.

There is still no response.

A short? A code change? The possibilities are endless. I consider removing the maintenance panel and rewiring it. I could manage to do so in about thirty seconds, but it would certainly disabuse them of the notion that I’m a harmless traveling techie. Unless they’ve already figured me out, in which case, not getting out of here a.s.a.p. would be a big mistake.

My options are neatly listed and scrolled through in a handful of seconds but before I’ve decided on one, a rusty squeal from somewhere above and behind me intrudes. I glance over my shoulder to locate the source of the movement but for a several seconds, nothing is immediately apparent. It’s when my gaze lands on a pair of gears turning against each other that a ghost of the truth shivers through my body.

And then the temperature in the room starts to climb.

I glance up and I’m as close as I’ve ever been to breaking out in a cold sweat. For the tiniest moment, I stare as the first of the dome’s panels slides under its neighbor. I turn back to the lock and rip the panel off. I don’t even bother with the possibility that someone has _forgotten_ about me being in here and has decided to charge the mirrors. It’s obvious to me that they know. I would be an idiot to hope otherwise.

Metal slides against metal and the first ray of unfiltered sunlight forces its way through the widening gap in the roof. At the access panel, I’ve just managed to yank out the wires but I feel as if I’m being boiled by light. And the first of nearly a dozen panels isn’t even open yet.

I try to work faster, but I can’t breathe. My eyes are watering from the glow beginning to surround me. I’m still calm – after training like mine what else _would_ I be? – but I realize that I will probably not survive this. Not that that’s any reason to give up.

The first panel is open completely and I think I’ve started to cook. I can’t think, can’t see, can’t feel my hands. Hell, I can’t feel anything except the blistering heat. And then I imagine I’m falling into a soothing, cool darkness and a pair of strong arms. Death hums in my ear and I’m a little surprised that I recognize the voice.

“Duo...” I think I say and then I’m gone.

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

Okay, there are certain things that you expect to happen when the door control panel you’ve been “coaxing” into unlocking finally complies.

Sirens.

Alarms.

Frantic shouts.

Gunfire.

Trieze.

Oh, wait, wrong combat sim.

But what you _don’t_ expect is to be engulfed by boiling, retina-searing, white light just as the feverishly hot body of the person you’re looking forward to killing in the imminent future falls limply against your solar plexus.

Let’s just say I’ve had better days.

I have to bite back the string of knee-jerk obscenities that rise to the occasion as my vision goes perfectly white then perfectly black. I’m too busy to bother with my impressive assortment of expletives at the moment what with dragging Heero’s body out of the path of that skin-peeling light while simultaneously groping rather forcefully at the aforementioned control panel. I’ll give those colorful words their due just as soon as the schedule permits.

And then, suddenly, _miraculously, _the door whispers closed and the temperature stabilizes. For a long moment, I stand in the dark, blinking my watering eyes and trying _not_ to tell myself my lack of vision is the result of me having accidentally hit a light switch in my mad scramble to get that damn door shut.

I’m not really sure how long I stand there. It feels like for-fucking-ever but it can’t be more than a few minutes. And then, slowly, the shadows start coming back to me and everything turns cool and dim and grey again.

Except Heero, that is.

I grope for his pulse and the fact that I manage to wrap my hand around his neck without eliciting a reaction tells me he probably won’t be walking himself out of here. Aching from the adrenaline and the mother of all migraines, I let out an explosive breath when I _do_ feel a pulse.

Fucking hell, I’m going to kill him when he comes around.

Of course, that means I’ve got to get both of us out of here in our respective entireties now.

Doesn’t ask for much, does he, this partner of mine?

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I kneel down under his weight and guide him over my shoulder. I stagger a bit as I straighten up.

Oh yeah, this is gonna be _fun._

I can already feel the flesh of my shoulder beginning to bruise under his bulk, but I’ll bitch him out about it later. For now I’ve got slightly more urgent things to worry about.

Obviously, I’d just interrupted an attempt on Heero’s life; it’s a foregone conclusion that he’s been made here. Now, depending on about three hundred and twelve factors, our exit from this Godforsaken facility could be scarily easy or fatal.

I know which one I prefer but I don’t usually get a choice in these things. And Heero’s not voicing an opinion at the moment, so...

I meet no one on the outbound trip. With every step, the knots of tension holding my joints together wind tighter and tighter. And thank God for that, otherwise I probably would have collapsed under Heero’s weight.

I’m more than a little surprised that, ten minutes later, as I’ve just cleared the Lunar Base in a borrowed shuttle and alerted the nearest colony hospital to our arrival and Heero’s condition, I’m still not breathing any easier. I’m a little puzzled by this. I mean, Heero’s not flopped over my shoulder anymore so you’d think the weight would have left with him.

But it hasn’t.

Frowning fiercely, I turn on the comm. and decide I’d better call work and let them know I won’t be coming in today. Oh, and that Heero’s mission has been scrubbed. And that Heero’s injured. And that I’ve also just managed to commit a shitload of protocol misconducts. Oh, and let’s not forget the felonies: breaking and entering, grand theft, and so on.

My hands aren’t shaking as consider I dialing Wufei’s line but my mouth is dry. Very dry. Which makes a twisted sort of sense if you consider the fact that my eyes are still watering like Niagara Falls.

Finally, the expletives I’d put on hold insist on having their fifteen seconds of fame. Even though it ends up being more like fifteen minutes. 

Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it _damn it!_

And in the midst of my near-violent emoting a vast, dark space opens inside me and four little, soul-shaking words echo out:

_What have I done?_

I’m pretty sure I’ve saved Heero’s life by way of pure, sad-bastard, dumb luck.

But “pretty sure” doesn’t cut it in a business that deals in hard facts. And it’s certainly never cut it in the Preventers.

But it’s a little late for that now.

I glace at Heero. Maybe I’m hoping for some reassurance or a Plan B or something. Instead, I end up staring at his molted, peeling skin... what I can see of it through my reflexive tears and around his clothes anyway. Damn, but he looks so young and lost and... broken.

And suddenly, making that call to Wufei becomes difficult for a whole different set of reasons. And no, I don’t want to talk about it, thanks.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

“Fuck you, man!”

That voice.

“Don’t fucking tell me...”

I know that voice.

“I _am_ calm, you asshole!”

Duo...

The sound of his voice is the only sensory input that manages to filter through the strange grey place I’m drifting through weightlessly. I attempt to open my eyes and I frown at the significant amount of effort I put forth with no appreciable results. Damn. Something this simple shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Look– You know what? Just don’t fucking call me unless you’ve got some half-way decent good news, all right?!”

I hear the click of Duo’s phone closing. A heartfelt sigh accompanies the rustle of clothing and the creak of a cheap resin chair suddenly being forced to accommodate someone’s weight.

I finally win the battle against the dim nothingness and the sight I’m greeted with is of my partner slumped forward in an ugly orange chair with his face in his hands.

My eyes water in the low but persistent glow of the room’s diffused light and something in my chest knots in upon itself at the utter dejection in Duo Maxwell’s bowed body.

My immediate reaction is to reach for words of reassurance, but in my free-floating, vague confusion, I’m at a loss as to how to gather them to me. When my quest for words fails, I attempt to locate a memory for inspiration but even those evade me. For what could be seconds or actual minutes, I simply lie here struggling for syllables that won’t come to me. Helpless, I watch as Duo sprawls back in the worn, plastic chair and quite abruptly treats the tiled ceiling to a rather colorful diatribe.

Those nebulous and as yet unarticulated reassurances lodge in my lungs.

And then Duo tears his malevolent attention away from the fascinating view above us and I find myself lined up in the sights of his hostile gaze.

The slippery words of comfort I’d been trying to close my fingers around shatter completely.

“Oh, great,” he says flatly. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

I’m startled by the hot aggression lurking in his voice. I watch him rock to his feet and approach me in a determined swagger. I feel like I ought to be cringing under the heat and weight of his glare, but I just stare, mesmerized.

For a moment he just glowers at me. For the life of me, I can’t understand why he’s so angry.

“So,” he bites out as he punches the call button at my bedside with barely contained rage. “You gonna take your turn and bitch me out about professional responsibility now, too?”

What?

“No?” he continues, steamrolling through my confused silence. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get around to it when you’re feeling up to it.”

Feeling up to it? I don’t feel much of anything at the moment except vaguely unsettled. I try to trace the thread of this thought as well, hoping it will lead me to the hows and whys I can’t seem to name. But then that splinters into nothing as Duo narrows his eyes at me. I can’t remember ever seeing a shade of blue as hard or as cold as his eyes.

“I guess you’ll just knock me out again for being so _helpful,_” he snarls.

Whoa. What the hell is he talking about? Is that how I got here? I hit Duo and he decided to reciprocate? But I can no more understand my motivations for doing that than I can comprehend the source of Duo’s hostility. I mean, what can I say when forced to endure derision of this magnitude?

For a seemingly eternal moment, I just don’t get it. I can’t remember ever hitting him. I can’t think of why I would even _want_ to. I _really_ have no clue.

And then a flash of memory reluctantly answers my witless confusion:

_“I need a favor.”_

_“Sure, man.”_

_“Hit me.”_

Oh, right. X18999. Wait... He thinks I hit him because... But, hold on... All that happened years ago, didn’t it? I strain to tie the fluttering ends of all these thoughts together but it’s just too hard. None of this makes a damn bit of sense and it’s starting to irritate me.

“Duo...” I finally croak out, blinking in response to his anger, my confusion, and the steady stream of light-induced tears crowding my vision.

“Ah, so your vocal chords _do_ work,” he observes snidely. “Well, after the doctor’s through with you, I imagine you’ll be ready to chew on my ass to your heart’s content.”

And I’m so busy trying to figure out what a doctor has to do with anything that I miss my chance to respond.

A third, new voice asks with no small amount of puzzlement, “Why would you be angry with the man who saved your life, Agent Yuy?”

I send a watery glance in the direction of the door and stare at the man who has apparently been appointed my doctor. I want to tell him that I’m not angry with anyone, but my brain takes far too much time sorting out the words.

“Don’t ask me,” Duo mutters as he abruptly heads for the still-open door. “That’s just the way the miserable fucker is.”

And then with a quick twist of his body and a flick of his braid, he’s gone.

I stare at the doorway and suddenly I’m remembering another portal entirely – one with an electronic control panel – and I’m remembering light – infinite, blinding, searing light. And for the first time since I’d opened my eyes, my mind feels perfectly clear.

I turn my now-sharp, lucid gaze onto the doctor and hear myself demand tonelessly, “How bad is it?” And it must be very bad indeed if I can’t feel a damn thing.

I listen to his well modulated and carefully worded lecture on third-degree burns, nerve damage, and radiation sickness with only half of my attention. I’ve heard most of this before, years ago, in pilot training. Mostly, I’m absorbing the following facts in silence:

Duo had gone after me.

Duo had saved my life.

Duo expects me to think less of him for it.

The specifics of third-degree burns, nerve damage, and radiation poisoning I can understand.

Duo Maxwell, on the other hand... now that’s an issue that requires some serious investigation.

Notes

:: Heero’s recollection of X18999 and hitting Duo is from Endless Waltz.

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

Going off on Heero like that had been pretty fucking stupid, no question about that. I admit this to myself as I bully my way out onto the hospital balcony and force myself to take three deep, sequential breaths. As I inhale the recycled colony air, I try to justify my outburst: Wufei had been a pompous ass; Heero hadn’t had the best timing in waking up, etc., etc...

But, regardless of the extenuating circumstances, I’d behaved very badly. Hell, who wouldn’t right after they’d been informed that no, you wouldn’t be reporting for active duty and assigned to the task force currently digging through the company that almost killed a fellow Preventer because you’re on _probation_ and Une wants to keep an eye on you until the dust settles. Probation. Fucking hell. There’s even a Preventer agent I’m supposed to check in with every twenty-four hours.

Fuck that.

Pardon me if I don’t feel like making Une’s life any easier by tromping down to the local Preventers Branch office here and checking myself in for observation.

For a small, infinitesimal moment, I feel a little bad for Wufei. Hell, he’d probably insisted on being the one to break the news to me. But that’s neither here nor there – or rather, it’s not _here, _it’s _there_ and I’ve got to concentrate on my local fuck-ups first. Concentric circles and all that. So, therefore, what I’d just told Heero gets the lion’s share of my attention.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_

And what the fuck is my problem with what had happened on X18999? That had been _years_ ago. In the heat of battle... anything for the success of the mission and all that shit. Way old news. So why did I bring it up? It’s not like I’m hauling it around with me like a faded, dog-eared photo of my first love or anything.

The only answer I’ve got is the same dark, mysterious void I’d experienced last week during Wufei’s pushy – if well-meaning – interrogation. Unsettled by this parallel, I force my attention in the direction of something I _can_ understand. Like me being an absolute bastard to the guy I’m normally assigned to work with. Although probably not anymore.

Hell, it’s not as if I’ll blame Heero for requesting a new partner when he heals up. Even _I _don’t like me when I’m at my snarky-bastard worst. So this ache I’m suddenly feeling that coincides with my contemplation of the death of our working relationship makes no sense whatsoever. I mean, I don’t really give a damn who I work with... do I?

Jesus. If it’s not one God damn thing it’s another. Everything I’ve thought about in the last ten minutes has morphed into something I sure as hell do _not_ want to think about.

But I have to.

Because sure as God made sunshine and snot, Heero’s gonna quiz me about it when I go back in there. And isn’t it a sad, sad commentary on my life that I’d rather endure that interrogation and sleep in an ancient plastic chair instead of checking in with my probation officer and enjoying the comforts provided by the Preventers. But I chafe more at the thought of allowing myself to lounge around in a hotel room that’s being monitored five ways from Sunday. Acquiescing has never sat well with me. And like hell I’m going to just sit around with my thumb up my ass for the sole purpose of Une’s peace of mind. Still... I never thought I’d actually _choose_ to sort through my subconscious and apologize to Heero instead.

I shake my head and let out a long breath.

I’m sure there’s got to be something _seriously_ wrong with my priorities.

Notes

:: Duo’s reference to X18999 is, of course, from Endless Waltz.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

There may be days when I’m not exactly crazy about my job, but when it comes to data collection via electronic sources I never have to work myself up for it. The instant I’m left alone for my afternoon “nap” I manage to commandeer the vid phone and position it to hover within range. It’s a given who the first person I’ll call is going to be.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Don’t _ever_ hang up on me, Maxwell!” he roars by way of greeting.

Despite my situation, I smirk. I usually enjoy watching Wufei make an error. It doesn’t happen very often but the look of pissed-off contriteness he produces is well worth the wait.

“Ah... Heero. You’re... awake. Um, finally.”

“Yes,” I reply, taking a bit of pity on him and allowing the stumbling subject change. “And I’m wondering what in the hell has got Duo so wound up.” I hate asking about things I should already have first-hand knowledge about... and _would_ have first-hand knowledge about if I hadn’t been unconscious the entire time. This is the last time I allow myself to be drugged into a near-coma for five solid days. Never mind that no one had exactly asked me... nor had I been in any condition to state a preference. But, however.

Wufei sighs. “Long story short, Internal Affairs is investigating him for initiating and following through with an unauthorized reconnaissance mission which may have resulted in compromising the agent undercover.”

This doesn’t make any sense at all. “But if Duo hadn’t come after me, you’d be trying to figure out what to do with the flowers from my funeral.” Assuming there’d be any. Or a funeral at all, for that matter.

“_I_ know that,” he assures me. “But there’s still considerable room for doubt. We’re investigating.”

I arc my brows at that. Sure as hell, no company would invite law enforcement agents into their compound after just trying to fry a Preventer on the premises.

“A virus has been discovered in their main database and it’s endangering the health and welfare of the workers. The UES Occupational Safety Department is looking into the situation and keeping us informed. As soon as they turn up anything odd, we’ll have a way in.”

I can’t help but feel a little proud of the fact that my virus is proving somewhat useful after all. Even if it had almost killed me to pull it off.

“And Duo?” I ask, trying to piece everything together.

“On probation,” Wufei reluctantly tells me.

Ouch.

“I should have tried to stop him. He was practically going insane the day you were supposed to check in and nothing came through. I should have known he wouldn’t wait the full forty-eight hours before–”

As fascinating as Wufei’s self-chastisement is, I have to cut him off. “What are you talking about? I _did _check in. It was Duo who never got back with me.”

Wufei physically pauses. I’m not even sure if he’s still breathing. I know this posture. He’s scenting a new lead. “Are you sure?” he asks carefully.

“Yes,” I tell him, knowing my information might change things.

“I’ll look into it,” he tells me. “And I’ll keep you informed.”

“What about Duo?” I ask, a little startled that Wufei hadn’t offered to share his finds with both of us.

“You’ll have to pass it along for me,” he replies looking grumpy. “I’m not talking to him again until he shits the stick out of his ass.”

I almost laugh at that.

“Now turn off the damn vid and rest like you’re supposed to be doing.”

And just to get even with him for that little dig, I don’t bother to sign off. I just smirk at him and hit the disconnect... and several other keys, I’m sure, what with my hands being bandaged as they are.

I hate the fact that I’m bound to this bed. Just another solar-sick spacer statistic. I suppose I ought to be grateful that so much progress has been made in the treatment of solar burns and radiation poisoning in the last two hundred years. My prognosis is actually better than most; it’s likely I’ll regain most the feeling in my back and neck over the course of the next year. But the sad fact is that my injuries aren’t actually all that uncommon. Colony maintenance personnel suffer these sorts of injuries all the time due to faulty or worn out radiation filters in their mobile suits. And that’s another bit of interesting trivia: mobile suits had originally been designed for the upkeep of the colonies rather than war. But that’s human progress for you.

Despite the leaps and bounds the science of medicine has advanced since the first space colonies, I’m impatient to be up and capable of punching out Duo’s lights. Not because he’d saved my life, but because the doctor had thoughtfully informed me that the idiot had nearly fried his retinas beyond repair when I’d practically fallen into his arms on the Lunar Base. Duo had been seconds away from being blinded permanently. As it was, he’d had to undergo seventy-two hours of optical therapy upon delivering me to the solar burn unit.

Seconds. Mere seconds away from being blind... I just can’t wrap my mind around that. I just can’t summon up a concept of Duo without his sparkling – or _sparking_, as might be the case – dark blue eyes. Doesn’t he know that I’m not worth that? That nothing is worth the loss of that vibrancy? 

For a while, I simply stare at the darkened screen and contemplate my situation and Duo’s eyes. Then I turn toward the information I’d managed to pry out of Wufei before he’d realized I should not be doing anything more strenuous than breathing. Thankfully, I now know that I am not the sole source of aggravation for Duo at the moment. But how his nearly going “insane” waiting for my call and then recklessly rushing out after me figures in, I’m not sure. Especially with his rather confident assumption that I won’t be remotely thankful for his intervention.

An instant of frustration clouds my thoughts. I rage at the unfairness of it all; this week I was going to go home, watch my cactus blossoms wilt, and work on being Duo’s friend. But no, now I’m in a hospital bed, awaiting physical therapy, further burn treatments and whatnot while Duo is emoting elsewhere beyond my reach.

Damn it.

I continue staring at the darkened screen until a voice I know all too well alerts me to another’s presence in my room.

“Now _that’s _more like the Heero I know.”

I start. Damn it, how the hell had he gotten in here without my knowing about it? I look up and take in the fact the Duo is standing well inside my room, obviously having managed to not only get past the door but almost to my bed before he’d announced himself. I’m on the verge of telling him off for it, but I bite back the words he’d nearly startled out of me.

Instead, I absorb his awkward, wavering silence and know he’s come back to apologize for his earlier outburst. But I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation. Still, these sorts of things can’t be rushed.

“At least I’m here in spirit now,” I drawl, unable to mask my exhaustion.

He snorts in good-humored agreement. Still, he has yet to look me in the eyes.

I tell him, “I talked to Wufei.”

Duo nods once and refrains from further comment.

“I understand why you needed to let off some steam,” I continue, hoping my empathy will pry a meaningful sentence or two out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, “if ever there was a reason for me to lose it, that would be it.”

“You mean being pulled off the case?” I venture persistently.

He shrugs. “All of it, really.” 

Duo shakes his head and wanders over to stare at a miscellaneous piece of framed art. I think it’s a vase of red poppies or something. 

He elaborates to the dull glass, “I know I’ve got issues with impulse control, but I’ve really fucked myself over on this one.” 

Between the two of us, I’d have to say that I’m the one who’s the most fucked over at the moment. But now’s not the time for a “my-day-was-worse-than-yours” pissing contest.

Duo predicts darkly, “Une won’t let me come back after this.”

“She doesn’t have all the facts...” I start to tell him. But he doesn’t appear to be listening to me. He doesn’t appear to even remember that I’m in the room. Or that he’s still speaking out loud, for that matter.

There’s a distance in his voice when he softly states, “I’m nothing without the Preventers.”

Those quiet words hover between us, _aching_ between us. And I find myself shocked and accepting and unsurprised all at the same time.

“That’s not true,” I tell him, albeit a bit lamely.

“No, it _is _true,” he replies, but that far-away quality still lingers in his tone. “It has _always_ been true. If I lose my job...” He sighs heavily. “There’s just nothing else out there for me, you know?”

I don’t really know what to say to that. I mean, if I had known him better, I might have been able to mutter something meaningful and wise. But I settle for conducting a brief search my memories for anything I think might have been important to him in the past. “What about the scrapyard? Didn’t you stay with Hilde for over a year?”

If possible, he seems to fold even further in on himself without actually twitching a muscle. “I can’t go back there,” he says. “I can’t look into her face every day and take seeing the pure, absolute _hope_... and trust... and fucking idiotic idealism.” He shakes his head and a sad chuckle escapes him. “A few years ago I was prepared to die to free the colonies from military occupation... and now – if there’s the slightest possibility that I’ll be recognized – I can’t bring myself to set foot on one. How messed up is that?”

There’s one hell of a story here. I briefly toy with the idea of ferreting it out. I’ve never been around Duo when he’s so open and hurting, but before I can figure the odds of making it through to the other end of the conversation without causing a serious setback in our budding camaraderie, he seems to come to his senses.

“In fact, if it weren’t for the lack of one God damn email, I wouldn’t even have to be worrying about this shit!”

Well, the holiday had been nice – while had it lasted anyway – but now the old Duo seems to be back and blaming me... again.

“I _did_ check in, Duo,” I tell him quietly. “I’ve already told Wufei about it. He’s going to let us know what he finds.”

“At least the lousy bastard is good for something,” he grouches weakly.

Someone more adept than me at personal relations would be able to turn the mood around, I’m sure. But, sadly enough, I’m just happy he’s not directing his formidable temper towards me anymore. We lapse into tense, awkward silence and I can almost feel his unvoiced apology and my blatant curiosity dancing around each other in the void.

But he doesn’t seem to hate me at the moment. And, as far as I’m concerned, that’s a decent enough start.

Notes

:: Heero’s comment about the original use for mobile suits being colony repair and maintenance is something I read in one Gundam publication or another. The title eludes me at the moment.

:: And yes, you may infer that medicine has advanced far enough to provide an amazing level of comfort and regeneration for people in space by the time this story takes place. I don’t care if it’s not realistic. It’s my story, damn it, and I’ll write what I want to.

. . .

_~ Duo Maxwell ~_

Volunteering to be Heero’s therapy buddy had been one of my typical impulse decisions. I suppose I’d been spurred on in part by guilt over still not having managed to spit out a proper apology for treating him like the Anti-Christ, and also in part by pure morbid fascination for his injuries. And, if I’m totally honest with myself, I have to admit that I’d been pretty damn curious to see just how Heero would react to his circumstances. I guess I’ve always wondered what exactly the guy is made of and having the chance to watch him fight his way back from severe solar burns and radiation poisoning had been an opportunity of a lifetime.

Damn, that makes me sound like some sort of bloodthirsty, ancient Roman spectator in the Colosseum or something, but it’s true. And, you never know, maybe I _had _been a spectator in the Colosseum in a previous life... although it’s far more likely I’d been the entertainment. In any case, now I had the chance to watch someone else’s vital struggle and I found myself signing up for the ride. I’m not exactly sure what Heero thought about me inviting myself along with him to his therapy sessions, but he never voiced a complaint.

But then, I’d quickly learned that complaining was something Heero just didn’t do... even when I could almost taste the physical strain he was under and my own muscles were screaming in sympathy. Hell, in those instances, I’d almost complained _for _him. But I’d exercised uncharacteristic self-restraint and forced myself to generate encouragement instead.

I grunt softly under Heero’s weight as he wobbles a bit unsteadily and leans on me a little harder. “Okay, man,” I hear myself say in an unusually accommodating tone, “slow it down a bit for me here, all right?”

“Am I... rushing you?” he grits out around the pain.

“You know me,” I reply around the laugh that wants to escape me, “just a lazy good-for-nothing.”

Heero takes another, better-measured step. “Not true,” he mutters.

“Sure it is,” I tell him. “Which one of us is actually walking _and _talking right now? You know I suck at multi-tasking.”

He just shakes his head in disagreement, but I notice that his glower isn’t quite as dark as it had been a few moments ago. “Not walking,” he corrects me softly. “More like... shuffling.”

This time I let myself chuckle. And I feel Heero pause beside me. I tear my gaze away from the goal line ahead of us and find myself looking directly into his eyes; they’re a little hazy from the persistent aches of his body but otherwise completely focused on me.

“What?” I demand, a little nervous at being on the other end of that look, especially at this close range.

He shakes his head. “I just can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh at something.”

I dredge through my memories of the last week or so and I realize he’s right. What with this whole probation thing, I’ve been one moody sonuvabitch. I open my mouth to apologize for that and I’m a little surprised it seems so easy to do at this moment, but Heero cuts me off.

He looks away and concentrates on his feet. “It’s nice to hear. I’ve missed it,” he tells me.

He’s missed my laughter? Well hell, what am I supposed to say to that?

“Er... who knew that after this past week, I’d still have a fan club?” I manage and try not to cringe at the pure cheese-factor of what I’d just said.

But Heero smirks. “It takes more than that to scare away the die-hard fans.”

“Also known as stalkers,” I reply in one of my sagest tones. “Thanks for the heads up.”

The smirk on his lips stretches a little wider. “Anytime.”

I nod. “Right. Shall we stop fooling around and kick this course’s ass or what?”

He chuckles and takes another step forward.

I’ve got to admire the guy. I mean, here he is: weeks ahead of his therapy schedule and not showing any signs of giving up or breaking down. The sheer momentum of the man is admirable. Despite the fact that he’s only allowed short rests between his three therapy sessions every day, he’s never balked at them. I can’t say I would have handled it the same.

This is our last workout of the day and although we do end up kicking the course’s ass, albeit in very slow motion, we both collapse on a nearby bench. Perhaps it’s from habit or something, but Heero’s leaning against my shoulder. And I’m a little startled to realize I don’t really mind. The bit of warm weight actually feels kind of nice.

“At this rate, you’ll be back on field duty in about five minutes,” I tell him with a grin.

“Hm,” he replies and I can’t tell if it’s an “I can’t wait” Hm or a “Whatever you say” Hm. He seems really mellow about it and that kind of weirds me out. I mean, if anyone would be chomping at the bit to get back to work – other than me – it’s Heero... isn’t it?

“Um, you do want to get back to work, don’t you?”

“So I can set Une straight on this shit story about you endangering my mission? Most definitely,” he says with surprising strength.

Startled by his reply, I hear myself reassure him once again, “Look, don’t worry about it, man. I’m sure it’ll work itself out.” After all, it has to. I found my post-war home in the Preventers. The very thought of having to give it all up and start over leaves me feeling shaken and weak.

Over the last few days, Heero’s suggestion of going back to the scrapyard to give Hilde a hand has intermittently passed through my thoughts, but my initial refusal hasn’t changed. After all, I’d started fighting for people like Hilde: people who believed in something; people who had dreams and optimism; people who still thought heroes were real. To see that open, innocent admiration in her eyes – and in the eyes of every other colony citizen who’d known that I’d piloted a Gundam – had been beyond painful. It had forced me to recall – with every breath I’d drawn – of a time when I’d had a best friend and hero _I’d _believed in... only to realize a short time later that there are no heroes. There are only frightened people and children who do what they have to in order to make it through another day.

During the war, I hadn’t fought for the deaths of the people I’d loved as a child. I’d fought for all of the innocents out there in the world who still believed in happy endings. And that’s why I’d joined the Preventers. I’d needed to battle alongside other scarred and restless soldiers who understood that while fighting is tough, looking into the faces that remind you of who you _used_ to be before you bought a clue and grew up is a hell of a lot tougher.

And these thoughts lead me to a rather unexpected place: I wonder what Heero had fought for in the war... and what he’s fighting for now. I’m a little amazed at my sudden, burning curiosity. But I don’t ask him. How can I? Asking him why he fights would be an invitation for him to reciprocate the question. And I just can’t open myself up like that to him.

A small, rueful smile touches my lips as I contemplate the surprising number of things I’ve discovered I _can’t _do lately. And most of them have something to do with Heero. Odd. And to think, not so long ago I’d believed that for me – the God of Death – nothing had been impossible.

. . .

_~Heero Yuy~_

I’m exhausted. 

I’m tempted to simply pass out as soon as Duo helps me maneuver back into bed, but I can’t.

He’s still brooding. I can hear it in his silence. And, trust me, after studying someone for as long as I’ve studied Duo, it _is _possible to hear their moods even when they aren’t speaking. In fact, sometimes the silence only makes it more obvious.

At the moment, he’s worrying away at his unsatisfactory contingency plans for moving on with life without the Preventers. I think he’s being a paranoid idiot about it, personally. There’s absolutely no way Une is going to fire one of the best agents the Preventers has seen since its inception. But this is really important to him, so I can’t blow it off by telling him he’s getting all worked up for nothing.

At last, we come to my room and he pushes my wheelchair up next to the bed. I wait for him to set the breaks while I silently plan my approach. It’s time to pull out the heavy artillery. Long past time. This is my cue to do something he can’t brush off, ignore, or discount out of hand. So, when he leans in to help me up, I reach for him and lock my arms around his shoulders. I push myself upright as he straightens... but that’s as much cooperation as he gets from me. I lean heavily against him, my entire body in warm contact with his. Suddenly, I’m a human necklace. This would be damn awkward if it weren’t so necessary.

Encumbered by my dead weight, he wraps both of his arms around my waist and looks at me questioningly. “Heero?”

“Stop tearing yourself up about it; it’s never going to happen,” I tell him softly. I don’t have to spell it out. I can see it in his face and sense it in his body’s tension that we both know what I’m talking about. “But,” I continue, “if you decide not to go back, I’d still like to have you around.”

His expression adopts a wry quirk of his brows and lips. “And just how are you going to keep me from lighting off to God knows where?”

“I’ll give you a job myself,” I reply with a small grin.

He hadn’t expected that reply.

I continue to his startled expression, “Unlike our unimaginative mutual friend, I think there’s quite a market out there for talking toasters.”

And there it is: the real, uninhibited laugh I’ve been waiting to hear all week. The fact that I can also feel it in the form of his torso vibrating against mine and his breath puffing against my cheek makes it so much better.

With his eyes glittering at me, he asks, “You’ll hire me to make talking toasters for you?”

“If that’s what you want to do,” I reply. “But I was actually thinking of making them myself so you could work on your next prototype.”

“Heero Yuy, the talking-toaster apprentice.”

“Well, it hardly makes sense for the genius to do the grunt work.”

“And now I’m a genius?”

A wider smile stretches my lips. “Get that surprise out of your voice, Maxwell,” I tell him. “You’ve always been a genius. And any further attempts by you to fish for compliments will be met with my snoring.”

“Oh, ho! So this is how it goes, eh?” he replies with a chuckle.

“Yes. And you’d better think about my offer,” I tell him.

“Oh, I will,” he counters with a brilliant and somewhat feral grin. “It’s the only way I’ll ever get to boss you around twenty-four-seven.”

“Sadist,” I grouch. Having successfully restored Duo’s good humor and planted the suggestion that there really _are _other things he enjoys doing besides arresting people, I glance longingly in the direction of my waiting bed. My legs start to tremble under me from exhaustion and I know I’d accomplished my self-appointed mission in the nick of time.

He laughs softly in my ear as he maneuvers me toward that happy destination. The warmth of his breath raises the small hairs on the back of my neck.

“Actually, I’m a converted masochist,” he tells me in a smooth continuation of our conversation.

“What were you before that?” I hear myself ask.

He laughs again. “Well, once upon a time, I actually thought I was a hedonist.”

“You poor, misguided soul.”

“Hear, hear.”

I let Duo guide me back into bed and relax gratefully against the new set of clean linens that had been applied in my absence. I try not to miss the heat and strength of his presence when he pulls away and tucks the blankets around me. I expect him to head off to his usual chair but he hovers over me for a long moment, a soft smile gracing his wide mouth. I don’t say anything. I just look at him expectantly.

His smile gets a little wider at my wordless inquiry. “And you don’t snore.”

“Hm,” I reply, feeling warm at both the knowledge that he knows this and at the evidence that he has constantly guarded me in my sleep here. “Does it piss you off?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Not really. But then again, your list doesn’t need to get any longer.”

“True,” I agree and allow my eyes to close.

Thus, the last thing I see that night is Duo’s gentle smile and laughing eyes as he watches me fall asleep. And with a sight like that, I don’t bother to try to remember any dreams I might have had that night. They would have only been a mediocre comfort in comparison.

. . .

_~Duo Maxwell~_

Heero Yuy had tried to cheer me up.

Scratch that.

Heero Yuy hadn’t _tried_ anything. He’d actually _managed_ to cheer me the hell up.

Will wonders never cease.

And that hadn’t been the last time, either. It was as if a switch had been flicked; as if Heero had suddenly realized he had the power to make me laugh and had become addicted to the adrenaline rush of it.

And I’d damned him even as I’d laughed at his quietly mumbled dry wit.

Too bad that happened a little too often during his therapy sessions. If I’d gotten a dollar for every dirty look the therapist had given me as I burst out laughing for no apparent reason, I would have been able to financially back my own talking toaster line.

“Man,” I simultaneously wheeze and try not to glance at the knowing smirk I know he’s wearing, “You’ve got to stop cracking me up...”

“Oh, am I wearing you out, Maxwell?” he hums at me. “Getting old and set in your ways?”

“Oooh... you are _so_ lucky I can’t hit you right now.”

He snorts. “Precisely.”

“I’m keeping track, though,” I warn sternly.

“I’d hate to deprive myself of the opportunity to enjoy one of your obscure paybacks,” he replies lightly.

“Argh!” I hiss. “What the hell? Who died and made you Mr. Happy?”

“The Easter Bunny.”

I laugh. Again.

The therapist glares at me. Again.

Ah, what the hell... right?

“Ya know, I think – between the two of us – _you’re_ the sadist.”

“Hm,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “That may be. There’s certainly nothing like a good collar.”

Oh. My. God. I choke on my own breath at the pun. “That,” I tell him in low tones when I’m able, “was a horrible abuse of Preventer jargon.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“And give Une ideas?” I force a slight shudder through my body and, pressed up against me as he is, I know he can feel it.

“Good shudder, Maxwell,” he tells me conversationally.

“I was rather proud of it, myself,” I reply with a conspiratorial grin. “Now, are you ready to give this course a go by yourself, grasshopper?”

“I was thinking about it,” Heero tells me, “but I wouldn’t want you to develop any signs of Empty Nest Syndrome.”

“Walk the damn course, Yuy,” I growl.

“Don’t let me catch you taking up scrapbooking.”

I sigh and shake my head. This conversation could go on indefinitely but Heero needs to attempt this on his own now. He’s ready. “Get shuffling, Flash.”

“Race you to the angry therapist,” he mutters, glancing in the scowling man’s direction.

“Wow, I don’t know how to contain my enthusiasm,” I mumble as we both stand there staring at the finish line about twenty feet away.

He sighs dejectedly. “Me either.”

I snort once but manage to keep the smile off my face. 

Carefully, Heero starts to lean away from me. The solid, warm presence of his body is suddenly absent and I’m a little startled at how strange it feels. Yesterday, he’d walked five feet with his hand on my shoulder but today his fingers slide down my arm and grasp my palm.

“You gonna be able to keep up with me?” he asks flatly, confident I’ll get the joke nonetheless.

“I don’t know...” I drawl. “A World Champion shuffler such as yourself can leave me in the dust.”

“At least try not to slow me down, will you?”

And with that, he takes his first unassisted step.

Even though he’s holding onto my hand, I don’t feel his weight at all. He’s really doing this on his own. With me along for the ride.

He makes it to the angry therapist without incident then collapses with me on a bench to rest. And it’s not until he’s leaning against my shoulder again with our hands still clasped between us that I realize this is the first time anyone has ever wanted to hold my hand.

And that person is Heero Yuy.

Who’d a thunk it?

I briefly consider mentioning this unexpected turn of events but something in Heero’s expression stops me. The words die unvoiced when I find him staring so hard at our clasped hands that he must figure we’ve got the meaning of life sandwiched between our palms.

“Heero?” I ask.

He blinks once and looks up at me. His eyes look darker than usual but his expression is unfathomable. “Thank you,” he tells me on a whisper.

“It’s nothing, man,” I tell him hurriedly, ever the one to head-off an awkward emotional moment as quickly as possible. I’ve developed it into something of an art form, I think.

But Heero’s single-minded determination thwarts my effort. He tells me. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Hey,” I say around a forced chuckle. “We’re Preventers, right? We look after each other.”

For a moment, he simply looks at me. Then, as he slides his hand free of mine, he leans back against the wall behind us and closes his eyes. “Right,” he tells me. “Preventers.”

And for the life of me, I can’t read his tone. Against my better judgment, I open my mouth to pursue this strange mood of his but I never do manage to ask. At this precise moment, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. Instinctively, I reach for it and answer it... and listen to Wufei’s voice as he relays Une’s summons.

. . .

_~ Heero Yuy ~_

Wufei’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, either. And trying to get my head around that paradox became my new hobby. Other than assisting Duo in the management of his acute agitation, that is. At the very least, keeping him from self-destructing gave me something else to think about other than the ticklish sensation in the back of my mind that I experienced whenever I heard Duo’s laughter or felt his steadying touch.

Over the next few days, I kicked my therapy sessions into high gear. I couldn’t afford to lean on Duo like I had been, not if I wanted to stand next to him in Une’s office and guard his back as he’d guarded mine here. And knowing that I’d allowed myself to – quite literally – lean against him so much became a source of puzzlement that I instinctively sensed could become a source of shame if I allowed myself to dwell on it. Luckily, I hadn’t really had the time. But I could feel it crouching in the back of my skull, waiting for the dust to settle before formally introducing itself.

So, as fucked up as this is going to sound, I’d been happy to focus on helping Duo moderate his unpredictable temper. He may be one of the strongest, most loyal, and expressive people I’ve ever known, but he’s like a star that can’t decide between becoming a red giant, a spinning pulsar, or a black hole. Einstein himself would have marveled at this young man standing next to me.

But Einstein isn’t here. It’s just me, Duo, and Une. And I can’t help tensing as our boss takes a deep breath in preparation for delivering her verdict.

“Agents,” Une begins. “Welcome back to Earth.” She takes this moment to survey me and I feel like I’m being assessed for my efficiency. Just another weapon in her arsenal. I fight the urge to fist my hands at my sides. “You’ve made outstanding progress in your recovery, Agent Yuy,” she tells me. “But your physician informs me that it may be some time before you will be fit for fieldwork.”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am,” I reply in my characteristic stoicism. In all honesty, I don’t have any interest in going back to fieldwork if Duo’s about to be fired.

That last thought startles me. Jesus... what am I thinking? That I’ll quit the Preventers if I can’t work with Duo every day?

Thankfully, Une saves me from exploring this thought further.

“Agent Chang has completed his preliminary investigation into your last assignment and it is those results I would like to discuss with you this morning.” She pauses and levels a hard look at both of us. Then, for the first time in known memory, she directs softly, “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

There’s really only one thought I have in response to that:

_Oh shit._

Duo declines the offered seat and I remain at my post beside him even though my body demands otherwise with admirable enthusiasm.

She takes our stubborn insistence in stride and simply – _finally _– gets down to business:

“Agent Maxwell,” she says briskly, “the facts of this incident have been reviewed thoroughly and while it appears Agent Yuy owes you his life, I cannot condone your vigilante methods. Preventer protocols exist for very good reasons. You’d do well to remember this in the future. For now, you’ll take an unpaid leave of absence for no less than thirty days. I suggest you spend this free time wisely. Perhaps reviewing your training materials,” she concludes.

Beside me, I finally, _finally_ sense a lessening of tension from him. He nods once and forces out a gruff, “Yes, ma’am.”

And then Une glances in my direction.

“Agent Yuy, you told Agent Chang that you’d sent a communication to Agent Maxwell on your check-in date. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.

“And what were the contents of that message?”

“I informed Agent Maxwell that the mission was proceeding according to schedule.”

“I see,” she hums. “And your _exact_ words, agent?”

I open my mouth to tell her but nothing comes out.

Before I can wonder too deeply about this, she asks, “And what time did you compose and send this message?”

“On the day of my scheduled check-in,” I reply and my voice sounds curiously wooden and dead to my own ears.

“The time, agent,” she insists.

Yet again, I have no answer.

“And when you hadn’t received word from Agent Maxwell, you checked your server connection. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I reply with relief. That much, I _am _sure of.

Une nods. “And did you find anything suspicious?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Did you check your communications history cache?”

“I...” My God, I don’t remember. Had the sun managed to fry my brain completely?

“Let me help you,” she continues fluidly, not disturbed remotely by my fumbling responses. “You didn’t find a recording of a sent message in the cache memory because no message was ever sent.”

I frown. “I sent a message,” I insist.

“No,” she tells me slowly and with deliberate intent, “you did not, agent. There is no record of it because you never composed it. Nor can you tell me word-for-word what you’d intended to write.” Une pauses. “It’s very unlike you to not remember those kinds of details, Agent Yuy. And I also find it unlikely that you would convince yourself that you’d written and sent a fictional message... at least not without encouragement from an outside source.” She pauses briefly and gathers a breath. “There’s only one logical conclusion: you’ve been compromised, Agent Yuy.”

The atmosphere in the room changes tangibly. The implications of this... The possibilities... Oh God... I start to seriously consider sitting down.

“I hope you understand that I cannot reinstate you, even for administrative duty, until you have been evaluated thoroughly by our staff psychologists,” Une continues.

I barely hear her. Fuck. How in the hell had this happened? _When_ had it happened? When had those bastards managed to feed me a lie about checking in with Duo? 

I feel suddenly very disoriented and dizzy. One moment, I’m standing at attention and the next I’m leaning heavily against Duo’s shoulder. I can’t recall gravitating toward him, but there’s no denying the fact that he’s supporting my weight effortlessly in the middle of Une’s office.

I don’t know how much of her informational lecture I’ve missed, but when I clue back in, I hear: “I have scheduled you a series of appointments with a Preventer psychologist who specializes in-–”

“No,” I hear myself say sharply. The last thing I need is someone else sorting through my brain. There’s no possible way I can consent to that.

“Until you’re certified mentally stable I cannot allow you to return to work,” she warns me, her expression stern.

“I don’t care,” I hear myself say. I just want out of this office. Out of this situation. Or perhaps I just want to lock myself in a small, dark room until the whole thing goes away.

In the face of this single, impossible, inconceivable thing, I flee.

And it’s not until I’m swaying unsteadily on my feet at the elevator banks that I realize Duo had followed in my wake. And he’d followed not to offer me words, but a silent shoulder to lean against. And I suppose it’s an indication of my disorientation that I don’t hesitate to take him up on it.

** **~End of PREVENTERS~** **

**Author's Note:**

> Gundam Wing fanfic news & updates can be found on my Kofi page -- https://ko-fi.com/manny -- where I blog and (occasionally) post shinies and (compulsively) caffeinate. If you are inclined to support my habit, you can do so here. (^_~)
> 
> Also! My GW fanfic and fanart hub is still-always-and-forever at LiveJournal -- themanwell.livejournal.com


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